It's not possible. He murmured, whispering it to the night, the silence, the stillness, to whatever was around to hear. It's not possible at all.
How many others before me have thought this? How many have questioned this? How many have wondered about our existence, the possibility, what and why we're here? He wants to cry, and he almost gives in to the childish impulse, but stops himself at the last second. No. He whispers. I won't cry. He would be disappointed in me. Such an act was not befitting of a nation of his status
But then again, the things he had done… Weren't those also not befitting of a nation of his status? He wanted to scream now. In pain. Scream, cry, beg for forgiveness, anything. He didn't want to be to a country right now. Didn't deserve to be one.
It's not possible. Our existence isn't possible.
He remembered hearing about it one time. England had been talking to France, one sunny July. He remembered what he had said, and he had just thought nothing of it. Now, now, he was reconsidering the importance of what the nation had said.
"Ha, I guess it just goes to show that we really are nations over people. If we were more human, I could have persuaded Alfred to stay with me." England laughed, almost bitterly.
"Ma cherie, surely you aren't still depressed about that?" France grinned lecherously at the shorter blond. "Come, I shall make you forget all about tha-" He was slapped across the face.
"STAY AWAY FROM ME YOU WINE BASTARD!" England stormed off on a rampage, probably headed for the nearest bar. France sighed.
"I keep telling him he needs to let go… We are far too human, would you not agree?" He smiled at the formerly unnoticed observer on the other side of the short hallway.
At that time, he might have agreed, had he not been struck mute and motionless but the awkwardness of what he was witnessing, and the shame of his eavesdropping. Now, such a thing was not possible. We are not human. We are less than human. The tears he had worked so hard to prevent flowed freely. In a slightly quavering voice, he whispered, "Or perhaps it is just I who am not human…"
Slowly, he rose, attempting to regain some of his calm. He was a nation. A country. A living personification of a group of people living in the same area that called themselves an independent land, one that was bound together by tradition, ties of blood, history, everything.
He was not human. But he was in pain over what he had done. Didn't that make him human, if nothing else did?
"OW OW OW OW OW!!" This was another one of his memories. He had been half-watching while Yong Soo was playing, although he did not yet personally know the boy, and half-trying to find his home. Yong Soo had tripped, and was now running back home crying. Silently, he followed, not knowing where else to go.
"ANIKIIIII! I tripped…" Yao was startled awake from where he was napping.
"Hm? Oh, he-you're bleeding, aru!" The personification of China jumped to his feet. "Stay right here, got it?" He sprinted into the house. "I'll be back in a minute, aru!"
Yong Soo had sat on the ground, bawling, not noticing that the pain was vanishing.. Yao arrived, panting, and carrying a satchel of bandages and Chinese herbal remedies. "Korea!" The younger male looked up, tears still streaking down his face. "Does it still hurt?"
At this, Yong Soo blinked. He'd been so miserable that he hadn't even stopped to consider the situation. "Oh…no, not anymore, da ze!"
Yao laughed. "Good, that means it's not caused by turmoil in your country." He moved the boy's hand away from the deep cut to show him that it was healing, at a somewhat noticeable rate. "You see, we can get injuries like normal humans too. But, when they aren't caused by other countries, or fighting or wars or things like that, then they heal quickly."
"What happens when we get them from the other ways?"
"Well, that's when we heal at either a slower rate than humans, or the same. It kind of depends. You keep some scars forever though…" Yao pulled his sleeve up, showing a fine line. "I got hurt here, during a fight with some invaders a really, really long time ago. This one's almost gone." He grinned, eyes filled with the memories of long-ago victories.
Yong Soo looked up with wide eyes. "Does that mean we're not human?"
At once, Yao's happy expression changed to an unreadable one. "Of course we're not, aru. We're countries." He faked a smile, then ruffled Yong Soo's hair. "C'mon, it's time for dinner, let's head in before it gets too dark, aru."
That's right, most of his own scars were caused by such turmoil as China had mentioned, and he had caused many, many of those scars himself. Why could I not have been born normal!? By now he's practically screaming in his thoughts as he hugs his chest tighter, hoping the flow of blood will soon stop.
He had collapsed again, from the fresh pain, the latest soon-to-be scars. These hurt. Hurt far worse than what he was used to. Nations…Countries, they were strong, they were inhuman, could take more pain.
But, if he were human, he might imagine that this must be what it feels like to be shot.
The pain overloaded his brain. Instead of blacking out, he remembered something that he'd rather not.
"Ah, Nihon! What are you doing at this late time of night, aru?" There stood a person, no, a country in front of him. Not just any person. His self-proclaimed older brother, his older brother Yao.
"Forgive me." China ignored his whisper. No, not ignored, hadn't heard.
"I have just made Zongzi, aru. Come in!" Happy. His brother was happy to see him here. And yet…
He was here to hurt his older brother again. Why? Japan whispered to himself in his mind. Why did you become so weak? Why have I changed so much? Why did they want me to hurt you? Korea. Korea was the answer. He had wanted Korea, and China wouldn't give him up. Korea had fought bitterly as well, not wanting to be owned by Japan, wanting to stay with his "Aniki".
In the end, Japan had won. Japan tried to explain to his family; Korea, Taiwan, and for the few short days he had had him, Hong Kong, that he needed them there. That Korea had been a "dagger" pointed at the heart of Japan, and that he wanted to strike back against the British, and wasn't it great that Hong Kong was finally home?
And he kept making up excuses why it was okay. He convinced himself that his people were right. That it was okay for him to be hurting his family, because in the end he would win, and he would be right, and his family would all be okay, that he and China could be friends, brothers, again, and that everyone would be happy with him in charge, that everyone would be happy to be all together again, under his care.
And now he was here, in his memories, to hurt someone who had raised him, who had brought him his words, and his culture.
He raised the sword.
"NIHON!" Japan snapped into reality, pain spiking.
"Nngh…" He couldn't recognize the voice. That was odd, that he couldn't recognize this person by their footsteps or their voice. Oh, wait, a voice, voices mean visitors. Get up, Kiku, you have to be presentable, a good host must be prepared at any and every time. He tried to raise himself off the ground, but nothing would obey his commands.
"Oh shit…" Someone murmured from above him. "Oh, god, Japan, I'm sorry, I didn't think it would be this bad, goddammit, I told them no, I told them one was enough…" Ah. It was America. At least, he thought it was. "Shit, is he dead?"
"Nn…America-san?" Good, acknowledge the guest, be polite.
"Oh thank god!" He half-felt, half-saw a shape sink to its knees nearby him. "Thank god…" He felt something tugging him away, and struggled to fight the unconsciousness he had previously longed for. Fought, and lost. The dark tide swept him away, as America shouted orders at unseen nations.